


This Is What Living Feels Like

by the_dandevil



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Forgiveness, Grief/Mourning, Moving On
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-01-28 20:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12614544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dandevil/pseuds/the_dandevil
Summary: The rubble's gone.  Debris and glass has been cleaned off the streets, and to Foggy Nelson so has his best friend.  He and Karen's worst fear was that one day, Matt Murdock would go off into the night as Daredevil and wouldn't come back.  As far as he and the others know that fear came true, but you can't keep the Devil down for too long.  Post-Defenders





	1. Melting Wax

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Readers  
> This is a New Story Continuing after the Defenders, looking at how the characters deal with Mathew's absence.

* * *

**"If I wait too long**   
**I'll lose you from my sight**   
**Maybe tonight**   
**I could stop dreaming**   
**And start believing in forever"**

**XX- Reunion**

* * *

 

He tensed his jaw and looked down. It was all he could do… grind his teeth together to keep from screaming out. Keep his eyes locked on the floor to avoid Karen’s broken stare. Rub his hands on his trousers so he had something to do. Anything.  
To keep himself as far from the situation as possible. So he could, even if for a single moment, distance himself from Matt’s funeral.

Foggy Nelson knew this would happen eventually. He’d told Murdock the same. If you spend enough time playing the devil, hell’s gonna catch up eventually. But sitting here in a pew, in a church far too empty for someone like Matthew felt...wrong. Father Lantom's words were just a background song to the incisive arguing in his head. Voices analysing the situation and showing him each way it could’ve turned out. Showing Foggy all the ways in which he had failed his friend. If he hadn’t been so selfish he could have helped. If he put his ego aside they could have worked together. If he believed in their small but hopeful little firm like Karen had then Matthew wouldn’t have been forced into his nighttime activities. If only If only If only.  
Matt Murdock would still be alive. But he wasn’t and there was nothing he could do about it now.

A flicker brought his attention and he pulled himself out of his thoughts, with a deep and sharp inhale. The motion’s slow, each movement his muscles groan in protest trying to drag him back to himself, and to stay away from reality as long as possible. But it’s a damn shame he’s already looked up to the dripping candle wax and before he can do anything about it he’s made eye contact with someone on the pew to the right. A handful of people sit on the right aisle, disperse, non sitting directly next to each other. They don’t have to say it but it's clear they don’t want to be there. But who could blame them. Who could blame any of them.

Jessica stares back at him with a glazed look on her eyes. Deep shades of purple and brown hollow her eyes, making it obvious she hasn’t slept well, if at all. How well did she know him? Did she know how much he had done? Not only as Daredevil but as Matthew? As someone who sacrificed everything he had, including his life only to help people? What goddamn right did she even have to be here? Any of them for that matter, They only knew him for a week, and that week cost his best friend his life. He clutched his fist and felt his nails carve out shapes on his palms. The bone crawling to the surface of his skin, itching to hit something, but before he could respond Jessica looked back down with her emotionless eyes parting from his, and just like that he opened his fists, not knowing what to do anymore. Being angry drained what little energy he had.

Anger wouldn’t help him heal. Sadness couldn’t help him heal. And he suddenly realized nothing could, at least for the moment. The church felt as empty as he did, with the thick stone blocks separating him from the outside world. The cool humid air inside the church heard only muffled sounds from the people in it. Himself..Karen… and the only other people who knew who Matt really was sat on the other side of the church, not feeling nearly valid enough to sit with them.  
They’re right. They shouldn’t because they lost a Defender, just another hero in this fucked up city.  
And as Foggy sat there watching the melting wax drip painstakingly slow, and hearing Karen’s ragged breathing, he realized that he lost his brother, and no matter who he blamed the simple fact was that somewhere at the bottom of Midland Circle was Matthew's body. And all the people he helped and touched and saved wouldn’t know it. That in the end only a full pew worth’s people would mourn for him.  
So here he sat, and all Foggy Nelson could do as Father Lantom closed his bible and ended his sermon, along with the memorial, was nothing but stare and pretend this was all just a dream.


	2. Price to Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt's funeral from Karen Page's perspective. The price to be paid for New York's safety was Daredevil. But with Mathew gone, whats the price left to those who knew who he really was? A hero's job is never finished until they see it though to the end and that's exactly what happened. Karen only wishes she had more time, and could have tried to understand him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am, even though its full of angst. Length will probably remain like this chapter and uploads will be constant. Stay tuned to find how out everyone deals with Mathew's absence and how they will move on

* * *

 

**“Now he's gone, I don't know why**   
**And 'till this day, sometimes I cry**   
**He didn't even say goodbye**   
**He didn't take the time to lie**   
**Bang bang, he shot me down**   
**Bang bang, I hit the ground**   
**Bang bang, that awful sound**   
**Bang bang, my baby shot me down”**   
**Bang Bang - Nancy Sinatra**

* * *

 

 

“Do you wish you’d kept your secret to yourself?”  
That was one of the last things she'd said to him.  
Before they were under attack and she was forced to play house in the precinct, Matt had met with her, at a diner. She didn’t even make it a whole breakfast, just a coffee. And the pair hadn’t even been sitting down for long enough for the drinks to get cold.

She was just so angry at him. Mad didn’t do her emotions justice. What she felt was a deep boiling rage that everything she thought she knew was just bluff, an act, it was a mask he wore. The months they spent together, the weeks she’d let herself fall deeper and deeper into his spell were just part of a persona that only existed from nine to five.  
Of course, she never knew this for certain.  
She never asked...she was too hurt and angry at him to give him the privilege of lying to her again. She never tried to understand. She shot him down before he could even open his mouth.

But when she walked away from that diner she felt different somehow. The hurt and the pain of being lied to changed from the instantaneous shatter she felt in her chest whenever she thought of Matt to a dull thumping pain. It was always there, but if she willed herself to ignore it she could...eventually. But now she realized that there was more to her feelings towards Matt than just ordinary anger. There was a feeling of despair. There was no getting back the man she thought she knew.

Daredevil wasn’t a person to her before. He was a figure, a hero looking down at the city from behind a suit of armour and crime-fighting skills. She was sensible enough to realize that he was a person behind the mask, but God that mask, that damn mask made it near impossible. Whenever she heard of that masked man helping someone, saving someone, or even beating someone, she knew she was safe. She knew that Hell’s Kitchen was safe. And the feeling was so overwhelming that this man was magnified to god-like proportions. He couldn’t simply be a regular person. Someone who needed caffeine to get their morning started, or someone who took the subway to avoid early morning traffic along Manhattan.  
No… an ordinary person couldn’t do the things he did. Physically of course, but Daredevil was so much more than just punches and acrobacy. An ordinary person couldn’t ignite the hope that had been in every resident of the Kitchen for months. Because even when things seemed darkest, like when Frank was terrifying everyone out there and chaos ran through the streets, people knew that the Devil was still out there. And that eventually, somehow some way, things would turn out fine in the end. He was the one who provided hope into those who needed it, and fear into those who deserved… it couldn’t be a simple man.

But he was… and he was Matt… and when she found out her perception of the world and her perception of him were distorted to such an extent that she knew she would lose herself if she gave into the grief she felt now.

After walking out of their first and last voluntary meeting, after he told her who he really was, Karen Page, for the first time in her life, felt true and utter despair. Because no matter what Foggy told her, and no matter what she told herself, she knew that nothing could be said to change him about his decision. “Words…” she’d tell herself, “I can convince him. I’ve convinced plenty of people to do plenty of things. I have a way with words, hell, I write for a living. One coffee, and I’ll find...Someway...to change his mind. To see how crazy this all really is. To get a blind lawyer to stop playing hero. That's what we have the Avengers for, or the guy from Harlem, or even the kid with the glowing hand. Those people have power. Those people aren’t Matt”. At least that was her pep talk to herself before failing to convince him and herself of this.

She raised her hand and signaled a cab over jogging slightly in her heels to get away from his hearing range as quickly as possible, before her skipping heart beat made it obvious, before she couldn’t hold tears in any longer. She muttered the direction of the newspaper, and the cab pulled away from the diner. The neon lights drifter furthur and furthur away, asn she pulled away from Matt as well and instead just looked out the window to the bleak-looking Kitchen. Kids walked along with their parents, steam jutted out of the sewers, Yelling and honking became the background noise of her own thoughts as she finally allowed herself to take in her meeting with Matt.

The despair she felt was because she realized that it wasn't a decision he had. It wasn’t some choice he got to make, whether he wanted to be the man she knew walking around their pastry filled office, or the one who saved her in the alley, in what seemed like a lifetime ago… this wasn’t a judgment call at all, and when she realized that, the emotions that felt like they were clutching her chest, and pulling her deeper into herself, into some dark hole Karen didn’t have inside her before, took a hold of her. Despair, Hopelessness, Anger, Betrayal and Loss.

For all his talk against Castle he wasn’t really all that different from him. Man and Vigilante weren't two sides of the same coin. It wasn’t even a coin at all. It was all the same thing, they were just ingredients into making the person she knew, and she had just been too naive to think otherwise.

That despair she felt was because she realized her illusion of Matt Murdock was forever gone, and she didn’t know if she had the strength to see him and meet a man she refused to see before.

But that was a long time ago…and Karen Page hated herself for not trying harder. Not being tougher, and finding the courage to face him again. Even if he was changed, or rather her perception of him was changed, she lost the chance of talking or even seeing him again. And when she looked up at Father Lantom's empty face she knew she wouldn’t get another chance to tell him she was sorry for turning her back against him. For abandoning him. For telling him that at one point she loved him, even if she didn’t realize it then. This and so much more...She wanted just the chance to say goodbye.  
A chance she knew she wouldn’t get.

Damn it, the despair she felt then meant that something like this would happen. Her and Foggy both knew it...that one morning Matt Murdock wouldn’t be coming back. She had just been too afraid to think about it then, and that would be her greatest regret.

Reality seemed to slam into her too suddenly. The book closed and the church, that had been filled with just a soft glow, and the constant hums of the Father’s words seemed almost ironically quiet compared to her thoughts, that never seemed to shut up these days. It had been only been a week, but time didn’t move linear anymore. Two weeks since their little meeting. Two weeks since she last had hope for Matthew Murdock. And a week since she realized that the real fear, despair and pure pain and anguish lay at the bottom of thousands of pounds worth of rubble. “Don’t let yourself think about that now. You do, and you’ll be the one at the bottom of a pit” she finally willed herself back to the moment, mindful and taking in everything, no matter how overpowering it was for her.

She reached her hand over to Foggy’s, and uncoiled it from the expensive looking suit he wore. He was so different now, dressed differently, smelled differently, but no matter how much his look changed according to his paycheck, he was still the same underneath it all. And everything she felt right now was for the time she knew Matt, a blink of an eye’s worth compared to the history Foggy shared with him. Gathering her courage she looked at his soft eyes, almost unfocusing, the veins in them were thick giving them an almost red glow in this light. Had he slept since the incident? Had he, like her, cried more than they thought possible? “Foggy” her voice was barely audible, and wavered like the dying candles in front of the altar. With a deep breath she somehow found her voice again “Foggy… I-I know that it seems like a shitty offer but, I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Always” please don’t shut me out, she wanted to add. After a nodd and a lapse of time she started talking again before she even realized it. “A few days before any...before all of this he met with me you know? I told him that we should figure ourselves out” each world was cut individually and raggedly by her anger and distraught emotions as they clawed their way into her throat. “He didn’t regret it...being Daredevil. All he regretted was that he lost us in the process. And then...back at the uh- at the precinct office I just knew. I knew that he finally figured himself out. I think I saw it...Before then, and I know you did too I just didn’t want to believe it. This wasn’t a game for him. It wasn’t some hobby. It was what he wanted, to protect the city and you and I and every other person in this room, he wanted to protect them. No matter the cost” she stopped and breathed heavily for a few moments, trying to get herself under control again, but managed to only wipe away at the tears at the base of her eyes. The thumping of her heart was loud and skipping beats, but she ignored it and focused on finishing. “He followed through with his promise to us - all of us. We have to respect his choice, no matter how much it hurts, And there’s already been too much anger and too much loss tied into Daredevil for us to be part of that too. Just” she sighed knowing she sounded like a helpless little girl, but she couldn’t help it, that's what she felt.  
“Just promise me that we won’t lose each other too Foggy” He looked at her with those sad wavering eyes that were too sunked into his face, and after what felt like forever his tense muscles dropped into a half-heartfelt smile and pulled her into a hug.

No more words were spoken between them that night. Any more words would require an energy neither of them could muster at the moment. Instead they just held ontop each other, using one another as a lifeboat, and let their tears seep into the other's shoulder. The honking and cursing noisy theme of Hell’s Kitchen remained unchanged. The walls provided a thick barrier between them and it seemed far too distant. But it was there, Everyday Life, was just outside the door, remaining unchanged. A hero, fallen, and the only ones who really knew it, and the ones who knew the price that those unchanging songs of a neighborhood had cost, were sitting in an almost vacant church. The smell of incense, the soft candle light, and the interruption of her small sobs were what filled the room, one which should’ve housed everyone in New York.

They all owed something to Matt, each and every single New Yorker did, and they would never even know his name. But she knew, and Foggy knew and the Defenders and Father Lantom knew, and for now they would have to keep their promises to the Devil, and not forget his memory. That would be the price they paid.


	3. Deal with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stick was right when he said they could learn from each other, though he probably meant he could learn from Matt. A week was all the time they spent together but he got three lessons. One- get off your high horse, your past doesn't determine who you are. Two- don't be arrogant. Accept and seek help if you need it.
> 
> but the most important lesson-  
> how to be a hero  
> Do all you can for those who can’t. And expect nothing in return.
> 
> Danny Rand would try to make his friend proud but the Devil's shoes are difficult to fill

* * *

**“Maybe I'm defective**

**Or maybe I'm dumb**

**I'm sorry, so sorry for what I've done**

**Maybe I'm bad natured**

**Or maybe I'm young**

**I'm sorry, so sorry for what I've done”**

**Sorry - Nothing But Thieves**

 

* * *

 

 

He down at his feet clenching his hands together and his feeling of not belonging was stronger than ever tonight.  Around him people began getting up moving away, some to go back to their ordinary lives, try to move past events that would haunt them for who knows how long.  Others to simply try and drink their issues away.  And there were many many issues.  None of this was right.  He shouldn’t be here.  Danny Rand came back to prevent this.  It was his duty.  To stop the Hand from killing more innocent people, to stop them from spreading their delirious message across the world.  To stop the chaos that followed the organization.  He trained for this his whole life, and yet the Iron Fist was sitting here at a funeral without a body because he couldn’t fulfill the role he thought he’d earned.  The Sworn Protector of K’un Lun my ass.  He couldn’t save his city, everyone who took him in when he was a kid.  Those who clothe him and fed him and trained him were simply...gone.  Because he didn’t do enough.  He tried, he had trained and he had the power and ambition to do it.  But like a cracked tea cup, it didn’t matter because no matter how much he tried it wasn’t enough, and the simple task he was meant to do just...failed.

 

He failed.  His city, his mentors, and when he thought he had a chance to redeem himself what did Danny Rand do? He failed.  Again.  A new mentor, and a new friend.  Dead.

 

Sure the Hand was defeated, their reign of terror and power that spread its way like a virus across the globe was struck down at its core.  But no one was fooled.  The so-called Iron Fist hadn’t done that.  He did it with the help of Jessica Jones, a sarcastic drunk with a stone punch and a heart of gold.  He did it with Luke Cage, a man with a will as strong as his skin.  And he did it with Daredevil, Matthew Murdock.  Unlike the rest of their little group he had no powers.  No way to defend himself from an army of trained ninjas or their immortal leaders.  He had no super strength to punch back, no skin to stop their blades, and no Fist to end them.  He had none of that. But Danny was damn proud to have met him, one of the best men he’d ever fought along side with, or known for that matter.  He did what Danny couldn’t; he gave his life to save, to protect.

 

The newspaper wrote about a group of New York’s heroes, the Defenders.  He took a liking to the name, it sounded proactive.  Men and women ready to stop threats before they endanger others.

It sounded ironic after the end of their war against the Hand though.

 

He scratched the bottom of his beard itching to get his thoughts out of his head, but isn’t that what you were supposed to do in a church? Reflect, and think back on your deeds, no matter if they were good or bad.  And try to find penance, and a way to improve?  At least that’s what he thought it was about, he’d never been to church other for a few Christmas masses and baptisms when he was younger.  But the more he thought about it the more he realized those were probably social engagements, for him the church didn’t have a deeper connection than any other building would.  From the short time he’d met Matthew he knew that that wasn’t the case for him.  His faith, and Father Lantom and the Sisters of the orphanage had saved him in the same way the monks had.  Those ties, those sentiments of loyalty that were etched into their bones to the people who helped them when they needed it the most… that was something that Danny could relate too.  He looked up when his hands and feet could no longer entertain his mind enough, and distract him, and turned his head away from the altar feeling like the intruder he was.  Instead he watched from afar a heartbreaking scene.  Hogarth's newest reclute, a man with a normally soft pinkish face was almost hidden from view.  His shaggy hair covered his swollen eyes almost as much as the woman’s shoulder did.  From what he gathered from Jessica, who seemed to know Matt the best out of the three of them, he was his former legal partner.  More importantly he had been his best friend for years.  The woman holding him had been a legal aid in the office.  He didn’t know her very well, but knew that she must’ve been important enough to Matt to take to Misty during the incident.  From afar she looked nearly the same as when he’d first seen her, and then again when they stood outside Midland Circle’s rubble.  A pressed skirt, a smooth blouse.  From afar the blonde haired woman seemed professional and composed, a look he was sure was part of an act to hid what her face couldn’t.  It was puffy and shone with streaks of tears.  When he caught her eyes for a moment, the blue in them seemed almost unnatural compared to the red that surrounded them.  The pair from someone’s point of view would seem like a neatly dressed and pampered pair if not for the faces.  The hug however, the way the grasped each other like he had to his seat when his plane came down, told a different story.  The two people who sat at the other edge of the building were utterly and completely heartbroken.  They looked exactly like what had happened, two people who have lost their best friend.  

 

A sob cut through the air and he looked away quickly, ashamed for having looked at such an obviously intimate and private moment.  But that’s what this whole thing was, this nearly empty memorial service.  He shouldn’t be here.  He killed Matt, he was the one who failed so much that a hero, someone who actually helped and protected those he swore he would, paid the price for his stupid boyish mistakes.  The air felt to thick, and the candlelight meant to provide comfort glowed mockingly to him.  He felt like he couldn't breathe or see straight and rubbed at his eye to try and focus again.  Colleen wrapped her arm around him and muttered something but the worlds just jumbled in his brain, and all he understood was a garble of gibberish in a soothing tone.  The ringing in his ears was too much.  An intruder, in a funeral that was his fault.  He stood up too quickly and for a second the world seem to spin around him but he ignored it and walked to the side aisle as quietly and discreetly as he’d been taught.  “Sorry but I- I have to go get some air Colleen.  I’m sorry” he looked down and focused on her eyes gaining control of himself again.  Really? He was the one who was about to get some sort of panic attack when he wasn’t the one who had reason to.  He closed his mouth and took deep and ragged breaths through his nose and looked down in her eyes.  They were full of worry and confusion.  The big brown eyes that had always helped calm and center him in the months since he’d met her.  The familiarity of her face, her rosy cheeks, and a small freckle right above her lip.  He took it all in and felt the calmness of the monastery crawl its way back to him.  But no matter how much he tried, her soft face and calloused hand pinning his on the wooden bench couldn’t make him feel any more comfortable that he had when he first stepped into the church. “I just need some air” he reassured her in a voice that sounded much more confident than how he felt.  

 

He got up and walked alongside the edge to the central garden.  Walking back to the city, and to the intensity that was New York seemed too much for the moment.  All he wanted right now was some air and some quiet.  Finally he stepped outside and the cold air slammed against him, electrifying all of his senses.  His skin prickled and his eyes focused on the assortment of flowers that filled the space that he was sure would have been beautiful in the day time.  Reaching a small stone bench, that was probably meant more for decoration than actual use, Danny climbed on top and crossed his legs with the full intention of taking the moment alone to try and meditate.  He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, trying to think about nothing.  To let all his thoughts drift away from him, and to allow himself to center his chi again.  Everything was so crazy at the moment, and he knew he desperately needed to get himself and his energy under control.  But whenever his mind began to quiet, and the thoughts that blurred his clarity settled he came back to a recurring image of the collapsing building.

 

Instead he went back to one of his first lessons in K'un-lun.  He remembered the monks, when they were teaching the young kids the reason as to why they meditate, would use a large inscribed brass bowl in the center of the room.  The first time he’d seen it Danny was just beginning his training.  His previous life back in New York, the way his family had been snatched against him, all of these thoughts lingered at the back of his mind, never settling, never allowing him to move forward, and instead cling onto them.  So the monks filled the brass bowl with water and he and the others crowded around.  “This is your mind” one would say “it is a tool, a weapon, and like a wild animal.  In order to succeed in any task you must first train your mind, domesticate it, tame it.  You cannot let it run wild” Then he did something that stuck with Danny through his years of training.  He threw dirt into the clear water.  The inscriptions that were so clear to read and appreciate, lay at the base of the bronze, now hidden from view under the murky brown water almost invisible to the children’s eyes.  “These are your thoughts.  Few is fine.  Few will not harm” he said as he sprinkled the last of the first into the mud water “for it is nearly impossible to have no thoughts.  But if you do not control your mind, your thoughts, you will be overwhelmed.  You will no longer be able to see the world with a clear mind, your thoughts will not allow this to happen. Many of you question why the Order of the Crane Mother has such emphasis on meditation.  You ask yourselves if we are not entirely holy men, rather warriors, why sit instead of train.  Meditation is not to have no thoughts, without self- consciousness, and not being mindful of oneself, where would we be as warriors and protectors?  Meditation is the ability to be aware that your mind is clouded, and the willingness to tame your mind enough to settle your thoughts down” he looked back down to the bowl, and Danny peeled his eyes away from the monk draped in orange garments.  The water was almost as clear as it had been before the dirt was thrown in there.  Now it simply lay still at the bottom of the bowl, drifting down slowly, and the water returned to its pure form.  “The thoughts are there, yes, but they no longer obscure your view.  Children this is why meditation is vital, and not just an exercise.  To harness your chi, to centre your chakras and energy, you must have a clear mind” he brought his finger to his shaven head “Clarity.  A warrior’s truest weapon isn’t one he wields but is a tame mind, and the ability to see beyond himself”

 

He sighed and let his exhale fill the garden.  He’d been given a new task, a new duty, and though he would not forget it was time to stop everything that had happened before and after the incident.  To embrace it but move forward, with a clear mind.  Matthew had died, he died an honorable death, one he deserved, one Danny wondered if he would as well. Saving his people.  Protecting those he loved.  They had all known the consequences and risks that came with facing the Hand head on, as well as the Black Sky.  He knew that, and Matt had known that.  So when they were standing around the lobby not knowing how to stop what was already underway, the Devil showed true bravery.  He showed what a real hero was.  A hero didn’t have to be someone with powers, someone with a mantel handed to them, and a clear mapped way to save the day.  A hero didn’t even have to have a name, no one had to know who he was.  A hero could be anyone willing to do the rights things, no matter the cost.  And in all his life, Danny Rand had never met a better hero than Matthew Murdock.  A man who helped save New York, and who knows how many other cities the Hand had under their influence.  The people of Hell’s Kitchen lost their savior, Danny and the rest of their group lost a leader and friend and those two sitting in the bench alone...well he imagined it felt like when he lost his parents.  Stick was right when he said they could learn from each other.  Up till now Danny had a sole purpose about his life, and about what he had to do.  Now he had a newfound freedom to choose who to be.  Matt’s last lesson to him was simple; be a hero.  Do all you can for those who can’t.  Expect nothing in return.

 

The Devil told him to protect his city, and you could be damn sure Danny Rand would honour his friend’s wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters coming at the end of the week. In the meantime leave a kudos if your enjoying and stay tuned!


	4. This Coffee has Whisky in it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica knew the dangers of being a hero. Same reason she avoided it in the first place. Its just a one way ticket to hurting the people you care about and ending up six feet under. Trish always pushed her to be one, but not too many people wish the same for their friends.

**“I got something in motion**  
**Something you can't see**  
**It requires devotion**  
**From those who truly believe**  
**This is something you can't touch**  
**This is something you feel**  
**For some people it's too much**  
**For some people it heals”**

  
**Gary Clark Jr. The Healing**

She swirled the whiskey around the small glass. What was left over from the amber-brown liquid showed glimpses of her sunken face and she grimaced, finishing it off the shot before she could contemplate it any further. This was like the time when she was trying to stop Kilgrave. The purple loving bastard made her tired beyond what she thought was possible before shutting down. Her normally manageable hair was about as wild as it could get, and was all around her head in a tangled mess, like some sort of black halo. Her skin was already an almost ghostly pale color to being with, now add nights spent on fire escapes with only the New York breeze to keep you company. Let’s just say the moon didn’t give much of a tan in the winter months. Her eyes were the predominant feature of her face, as they seemed almost cartoonish with their large size and glow. But now...now they were just bleak. They were just there. It’s not like they even had some childish happiness, or even some mystery behind them, but they were always alive and trained...sharp. They were the eyes of a detective, never letting anything escape their view, piercing each point she found important, darting about a room trying to catch clues to whatever mystery she had at hand. But now they just dropped lazily from half a night of drinking, following countless other days and nights with drinks and insufficient sleep. She was glad she didn’t have to stare at her reflection anymore, because if she did she’d probably just get pissed at herself for acting as pathetic as she did months ago, like back when Kilgrave destroyed her life again. And now she wasn’t even like this because of herself, now she was like this for some guy she knew for like… five days.

She sat at the bar of a crappy little joint a few blocks from her apartment. The smell was disgusting, the bartenders treated the customers like shit, and the people that went there...She was honestly the nicest of them all, and that was taking into account that she killed someone. Two someones. But she didn’t want to get into that again. She scratched the countertop with her bitten down fingernail, across the crevices of broken down wood. The table had a sticky feeling to it, also known as spilled alcohol and a wet towel wipe down. The music blared through the small space, the voices and gruffs of the men in there rang at the same volume. The only things that pierced this were the sheiks of their lady friends and snaps of pool balls from the table in the back. How he did this, only listen and smell these things she didn’t know, if she even paid minimal attention to them she got sick and nauseous. Maybe it was just the place, whose only good quality about it was the fact that it was cheap. More likely it was just combination of the booze and sitting in a cigarette filled bar for too long to early. Reaching into her jacket pocket she pulled out a few dollar bills and set them on the counter under her empty shot glass and got up to leave the sleaze hole. She stood up and got re-adjusted on her own two feet and her own height again. She raised her hand when the bartender asked if she was good, not wanting to interact with anyone at the moment, and walked outside scrunching her eyes against the early morning light.

She walked through the streets, letting the cold numb her thoughts, and stuffed her gloved hands in her jacket. There was already traffic on the main avenues, nothing out of the ordinary. Coffee houses were already lining up, with warm roasts wafting through the air. Honking cars, construction work nearby, and rude people scurrying past her. Everything in New York was normal, there was nothing off about this, this is the scene everyone who’d been here more than a week was used to. The only one who seemed out of place was her, or at least she felt like that.

By the time she looked up she saw she was nearing the financial district, well out of her normal ways. Work could be good, it would distract her from the little pity party she had, and at least give her an excuse to not sleep during regular hours. Hogarth probably wanted to get dirt on someone like usual so maybe the trip here wasn’t all in vain. And that was when she saw him

“Shit” she whispered, and stopped moving. On the other side of the street was a ginger haired man, with a emotionless face, he seemed to be dragging his feet against his own will. Foggy Nelson.

She’d seen him lingering around the office whenever Hogarth summoned her but they never had a conversation or really met, at least not before the memorial. He knew Matt, from his life outside of Daredevil and she groaned knowing what she was doing before she could stop in. Her feet turned around, and she followed despite every muscle trying to turn back and avoid talking to him. She clenched her fist to avoid them waving to him but she was too busy focusing on this to stop her mouth

“Hey” she called out. And to her dismay he heard her, and against the probability that he wouldn’t notice her in the crowded they made eye contact. “Nelson, right?” Damn it.

He nodded and extended his hand, unsure of where their relationship stood. How do you greet someone who you've never really talked to but have a shared trauma. “Ms. Jones...how-how’re you doing” she didn’t look like she was doing that good. In fact, she probably looked like he did. No matter what skin care products he bought or better clothes he wore he didn’t fool himself into thinking that he looked fine at the moment. And he shouldn’t. He’d much rather bury himself in piles of files and statements rather than take another moment thinking about the situation he was in. He hadn’t called Karen back because he knew her, and as much as he hated himself for it, all he could see when he saw her face was the time the three of them shared in the little Hell’s Kitchen dispatch. He couldn’t disassociate one of his closest friends from his dead one, and he knew she wouldn’t be able to either. Better to keep things seperate for now, concentrate on their careers, to keep in touch but minimally, at least for now.  
“What brings you to the suit district?”

She shook his hand, her own loosing any warmth it had inside her pocket. She tried to look pleasant while she did this, knowing it was a failed attempt. Why did she even come here? He probably hated her for not protecting his friend. But then again it wasn’t her fault, it was just the little karate kid’s feuds. Rand, and Murdock and the old guy and the Hand. They had their issues and it wasn’t her fault she got dragged into it, she wasn’t made to be a hero because it doesn’t matter how many muggings you stop or how many speeding trains you catch. In the end we all end up six feet under, and heros are the first to go.

“Good, just working” If drinking could be included in her resume. She didn’t know how to keep the conversation going. “I was gonna grab a coffee if you want to come”

She looked uncomfortable, he was uncomfortable. But if he couldn’t talk to Karen, then it seemed almost disrespectful to ignore the memory of the best man he ever knew

“Sure, my treat” he answered 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness. This was originally only half of the chapter but I knew I'd take even longer if I didn't post something. I've been extremely busy but not to work, three other chapter are underway and will be posted soon!


	5. Red Handed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica knows she could've stopped him. She didn't have to get in the elevator and watch as he disappeared under the tunnels. Foggy knows he could've stopped him. Tried harder to stay by his side, not give him that ridiculous red costume. There's enough blame and guilt to go around, but his legacy can't be limited to sorrow. Two broken people begin to break their silence and learn forgiveness and acceptance are the only way to begin to move forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,  
> Sorry to have been so inconsistent with the posts lately, but the story is ready to go, and I'm now on break so fear not. Kudos are highly appreciated and let me know what you think of the story so far or any constructive criticism you have, as I want to give you the best possible story.  
> The story's exposition is winding down, but I think you'll enjoy the next character we'll see

**I wear this crown of thorns**

**Upon my liar's chair**

**Full of broken thoughts**

**I cannot repair**

**Beneath the stains of time**

**The feelings disappear**

**You are someone else**

**I am still right here**

**Johnny Cash - Hurt**

* * *

  


Something a little stronger in this coffee than just caffeine would do him good right about now. He sat in a diner, less than half empty despite the morning rush hours, which oddly reminded him of Johnny Rockets.  The booths were the same squeaky latex red kind of color, the same color of cherry icee, a fake red color who’s plastic reflected the fluorescent lights overhead.  Stools with the same coverings were on the bar side, and elderly looking waitresses walked around with endless cups of coffee in a never ending choir of “Would you like more” or “anything I can do for ya?”.  The place was nice enough, it was homey and welcoming.  A little sanctuary of warm yellow wall and the smell of bacon floating around. The diner wasn’t why he felt uncomfortable, it was the fact that he was sitting in front of Jessica Jones, someone he doubted he’d ever catch a bite with.

  


He didn’t hate her per say, but he viewed her the way he was taught to view any accomplice of a crime back in Colombia, so he didn’t exactly like her.  And it would definitely be easier to hate her, and blame her for everything that had happened before.  Matt was an idiot sure, a stubborn, self centered idiot with a Superman Complex despite not having any Superhero qualities, but he was never a suicidal idiot.  It’d put his mind at ease that by giving him the costume he hadn’t basically pulled the shotgun.  It was a hell of a lot easier to blame Jessica, Danny and Luke for not protecting their team member...had they ever really been a team?  It was easy to blame Elektra, who he’d only really known in college, but since then she’d only spelled trouble for Matt.  She’d nearly gotten him kicked out of school, and when she came back to his life...well that was when everything went to shit.  The big baddies that they were against were the easiest to blame, but he didn’t know them, never even heard of them until after, and it didn’t feel sufficient to pin the blame on a phantom presence.

  


But when he looked at her he simply couldn’t gather the strength to be angry.  He was simply too tired and so was she clearly.  The minimal small talk they’d made was for pleasantries and formalities, not much else.

By the time the pink wearing waitress came around for his second cup of coffee, he finally decided to speak for her sake more than his.

  
He opened his mouth and struggled to find words.  What could he say really? Finally he decided against a middle ground between what he really wanted to know and salutations, even though he felt himself shrink back into the plastic while he did. 

“How uh” he cleared his throat again. Even if he was mentally prepared to talk about the subject his own body still rejected having to go through the trouble of speaking.

“How’re you doing?.. I mean really doing” he urged letting her know he was trying to talk about the incident again

She stared back at him and felt her throat dry, refusing to answer. She took a few sips from her coffee before answering.

“I don’t know.” She answered bluntly, never really being one for eloquent speech, or even one for the ability to show her emotions.

“I had...I shouldn’t have been there at all”. 

Her chest constricted when she remembered the events of that night.  She’d been concentrated on only one thing, not getting killed.  Sure she had these...power...but they didn’t make her this extraordinary being everyone saw her as.  Most of the time, she ignored them and even though the’d been useful during her time with these Defenders, she wasn’t up to their speed.  She didn’t fight criminals like these, so when she did all she tried to do was avoid being killed.  The more she thought about that final night, the less she could remember.  It was as if she’d been drunk, in and out of blackouts.  Everything blurred together, details that seemed unimportant stuck out to her like they were the last thing she’d see.  Major events faded away into a corner of her mind that seemed unreachable.  Little moments, glimpses really, of these forgotten memories came fleetingly, without warning.  In the shower, she would suddenly remember the policeman pointing guns at them when they were escaping, that feeling of hopelessness and desperation she’d come to know all too well.  She could only see the guns, and feel that emotion again.

But there was one memory in particular.  One memory much worse than any other she had, even more so than the ones that haunted her in her sleep.  She’d witnessed her family’s death.  Seen the grass and trees speed on the side of the road, her headphones trying to block out any sound the others made in the car.  Anger towards something she couldn’t place dominated her feelings that day, but when she thought of the moment all she could feel now was loss.  She’d been there, she’d survived, and that was a simple fact she’d come to terms with.  She hadn’t chosen anything.  Kilgrave making her kill that woman, Luke’s wife.  That had been an anchor at her heart for years now, weighing her down, influencing every choice she’d made since then.  But she had finally accepted that, and been able to overcome the vulnerability she felt whenever she remembered that.  Her being so weak minded, stipped of everything that defined her as a person, being fully overpowered by someone else.  

Vulnerability, helplessness, anger and loss.  They all clawed at her soul, never allowing themselves to be forgotten, but yet somehow, she’d accepted them.  They completed her, and the knowledge that these defining moments of Jessica’s life hadn’t been her own doing were the only thing that made her be able to move on from them.  But that wasn’t the case this time.  Drinking more of her coffee to distract her mind once again, she cleared her throat knowing he wouldn’t accept such a insubstantial answer.

“You saw my file...you read my case” she began slowly, with a slur, reminding herself that she wasn’t sober, which helped made this whole thing easier that it should have been.

“You know who I am, and I am not...That.  I’m not a hero, never have been.  I tried using this..Super Strength for that, but I just wasn’t strong enough.” 

Weakness was emotion only Kilgrave had made her feel.  Too weak to stop someone controlling her mind.  But knowing that she was too weak to stop Matthew didn’t compare to that.  Three other people tried to change his mind at first, but then Luke and Danny understood his reasoning, or so they claimed.  He wanted to stay down there, to save his girl, that psychotic bitch, or make sure sure the fight hadn’t been in vain.  The vividness should have been there but again it blurred out.  Instead of remembering her trying to get him to come with them, his answer, or Luke dragging her out, all she could remember was looking at the opaque red lense in his halloween costume being blocked by a roof, as the elevator pulled them back up.  The excess strength she had had since losing her family was worthless when it came to getting him to his senses.  No mind control, no natural order of life and death, she could have saved him if she’d been able to convince him to go with her.  Weakness.

“Right now, all I want to do is forget...you?” she muttered and looked up at Matt’s former best friend

Foggy bit into his cheeks when she spoke as guilt creeped into his body, his nerves numbing and infighting around his body.  The hairs on the back of his neck pricked when she spoke the last words.  He’d been so focused on trying to blame everyone, anyone, that wasn’t him to avoid the crushing weight and burden of the death that he hadn’t even considered that the others would have wanted that same privilege, at least Jessica.  It was Matt who’d made the fatal choice, but she knew she could have prevented it.  How, he couldn’t know, and he didn't want to know.  He could barely handle the fact he had now, but the little sanity he’d managed to keep would be lost if he knew the details. Foggy seemed cold, even distant to what had happened, but that was a farce, one anyone who took a second glance at him could see right through. The sanity in the bathtub that was his mind would overflow, it would pour out with such a ferocity that he was terrified of what would be left when the tidal wave would finally stop.  All he needed to do to avoid that, was let time run its course, to pull the plug and let the water subside just enough that he could handle more information.  

Looking back up to her, biting his cheek was the best option.  Distract yourself to not let any more water in the tub. He couldn’t possibly know how she felt, he wouldn’t know for now, but that anger he had boiling under the surface for so long, that betrayal he felt whenever he looked at her, at any of them for that matter, cooled.  Not completely but just enough for the apathy to begin to turn to empathy. As the thoughts kept the conversation in his mind he found himself answering her.

“I just- I don’t know what comes after you know?.. He didn’t have a family, Matt Murdock disappearing when the city knows Daredevil’s gone isn’t too much of a coincidence.  But still…”

He finished off his coffee and played with his fingers, the clammy damp skin sticking to each other like the words did to his throat

“Can’t mourn him properly.  The memorial’s done.  The only people who knew went, but now what? He’d dead and no one gives a damn because no one can ever find out”

Being a hero isn’t easy business.  Dying a masked man is even worse.

“I’m sorry that this happened Foggy” she apologized looking at him, and receiving an almost expressionless look back.  It was clear he’d disconnected himself from his emotions, which is what she should be doing instead of sitting here feeling sorry for herself.

“It was his fault.” He answered unsure if he was trying to convince himself or her, probably both

“He knew the risks and took them.  He uh- he told me a while ago that he didn’t want to stop.  He would give up being normal that well..that” She quieted his voice, reminding himself that he was in public.  He promised to keep the secret and even if Matt wasn’t around to scold him when he didn’t, he couldn’t break a dead man’s promise, much less a best friend’s promise.

“I thought he’d changed, he went back to law, tried to go straight.  But he was addicted.  He went back.” 

She frowned and buried her eyebrows when she remembered trying to leave and getting out before the fight began.  He had already lost so much to the Hand, but he knew the right thing to do.  He ignored the crack in his voice when Foggy spoke.

“You think she survived?  Elektra?” She was prepared for the conversation they’d had, been mentally preparing for it since the building came down and the devil didn’t rise.  She thought she was ready for blame and guilt and heartbreak and whatever other shitty emotion came along with the responsibilities of Matthew's death, but she wasn’t ready for that question.

“No idea” she responded frankly.  That bitch had come back from the dead once

“Tell you what, I see her again and I’ll make her wish she never came back”

Finally the blame and guilt they both carried could be placed on one person.  The one who made him give up his lives, as an extraordinary vigilante first, as an ordinary person when he came back, and at the end both of them, all for her.  The girl in red was responsible for all of this, and the conversation quieted as they came to the mutual understanding that they played their roles, but the only person in the world who had the power over him to make him choose between who he was and who he’d die as, was the only one who had his blood on her already crismon stained hands.


	11. Born Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had never been friends, so to speak. They had never seen eye to eye, but Frank respected the hell out of Red, and finally without the Feds chasing after him and his work taking a break he heard about what happened, little does he know a man begins to stir in a covent, barely a few miles from his payphone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Lovely and Loyal readers,
> 
> first up a quick apology, I have to admit I wasn't sure what direction to take this story but after some comic research again, I've found direction and inspiration, and let me tell ya, I am excited for what's coming.  
> Please leave a kudos, and even better a comment, let me know any characters you'd want to see, or simply any feedback you have, after all I'm writing this for your enjoyment.  
> Thank you and without further adieu,  
> our next installment

* * *

 

**“For every hard earned dollar I make**

**There stands a white man just to take it away**

**Some might say I talk loud, see if I care**

**Unlike them, don't walk away from my fear**

**I've busted bones, broken stones, looked the devil in the eye**

**I hope he's going to break these chains”**

**Kaleo - Broken Bones**

* * *

  


“Where are you” Karen breathed into the phone.  She didn’t mean to do it, but she always did when she was talking to him, never knowing if there was someone after him, after her.  All she knew was that whenever she talked to Frank, trouble wasn’t far behind

 

“Around, taking care of a few things” he answered in that same gruff, monotone voice, that held no emotion or any clue as to where he could be. It was a tactic that had probably said his ass more times than she knew, and even though she’d gotten used to the mystery, the never knowing, that black aura that hung about him like a cloud of cigarette smoke, she hated it. From her short time as a legal aid, Karen had learned how to read people, at least notice things about them people tended to overlook.  The way they spoke, how their voices wavered or changed pitch was usually how.

With Frank it was like talking to a drywall.

 

“Are you alright? I haven’t heard from you since…” Since Medani, since you were outed to the world as a living man, since Billy Russo came after you and since we both somehow managed to car out of that shit show alive.

“I haven't heard from you in a while”

 

“I know”

 

“Are you ok then?”

 

“Yeah”

 

Silence…She created heavily into the phone again, that same loss of breath came crawling back to her, into her lugs, and threatened to close off her air supply.  Why call her then? He was fine, she was fine, why did he call her.

 

“Why did you call, Frank?” She all but pleaded, knowing the suspense to his phone call was worse than anything he could tell her.  It wasn’t that she disliked talking to him, but she wasn’t fooling herself.  As much as she liked Frank, and felt comfortable around him she couldn’t deny who he was, and the baggage he came with.

It wasn’t his past that bothered her, she knew what he’d gone through, the knives he had to rip out of his flesh to survive, the literal bullets that went through his head trying to put him down, she didn’t care about that.  Survival was a primal thing, it made people do things they never fathomed they could have, and Frank had been through things not even he could fathom even now.  Just the fact that he was standing here, smiling sometimes, sad others, filled with rage and fury and love and endurance, was more than any other person she’d met could say.

But he was the Punisher, and as much as Homeland Security had reminded her, he would never be free from those chains. They were embedded into his skin, and even if he was freed from them, they would still be there in his mind, and others would always try to use that to their benefit.A one man army couldn’t live without war.

“I…” He began slowly, each second dragging on longer than the last

“Last time we talked I didn’t know…”

 

“Know what? Didn’t know what, Frank?”

“About Red”

And just like that, those claws that were teasing her minutes before, snapped around her throat rendering her unable to breath, to talk, or to even cry out. She just did what she did best with Frank, breath into a phone and wait for him to tell her why she would need that survival instinct again.

“Who?” She spoke in a straight voice, not knowing how she’d managed to even utter the word. Red, she knew exactly who he meant.

“Kid that dressed around playing hero at night…the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen” he talked in that same emotionless voice, was he teasing him, was he taunting the same, could he actually be talking in a somber voice and showing empathy?  All she could do was close her blinds and sit on her desk, keeping a grip on the corner that could kill a man.  If she focused her energy on something as insignificant as that then maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to listen to him talk.

“What about him?”

Another pause.

Another silence.

Just when she thought that maybe he’d hung up, or maybe she had without noticing he answered

“Can we meet at the diner again? No…No funny business, no agenda…  
I just wanna talk Karen”

That meant she could breathe again, he didn’t know about the connection, he hadn’t figured out that half of the team that had so valiantly and stupidly defended the Punisher almost a year before hadn’t disappears the same day the other Vigilante had.

She had known Daredevil, before she even knew who he was. And Frank had met him that day on the water tower, and Frank had helped him on the rooftops before disappearing again.

Frank knew Daredevil.

He knew him better than he knew Matt.

Frank knew Daredevil.  
Karen knew Daredevil.

That was it, like he said there wasn’t a hidden agenda.  Almost never was with the two of them. She wasn’t the strongest person around, she flinched when she saw blood, she cried when people were hurt, and she mourned when they died. But being strong don’t always mean apathy, and Frank understood that, and confided in her, out of all people.

He knew she could handle what he told her, which is why, if there really were some hidden motive, an agenda, funny business, he would’ve told her.  Hell, at least he would’ve hinted at it, and as if reading her thoughts he spoke again.

“I know you wrote about him, I just…I gotta couple questions I wanna ask”

“Fine. When?”

“Tonight?”

“Seven?”

“Alright”

“See you then”

Click.

* * *

 

**“The devil's going to make me a free man**

**The devil's going to set me free"**

* * *

 

Meanwhile....

 

She looked over at him, this broken man, who came in broken, and would leave broken, if he ever managed to. If she were asked how long he’d been sitting here, the Nun wouldn’t have been able to answer truthfully.  She hadn’t been alerted when he came in, she was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Or was it the right place at the right time?

She’d walked into the infirmary, it hadn’t been used by anyone in a while, but it was a good place to find some peace and quiet should she ever need it.  Quite ironic, having to find one’s own secluded area, inside a convent. But here she could read her letter without anyone interrupting here, here she could laugh and cry without having to explain anything to anyone, it was her secret little room, until it wasn’t.

 

Matthew Murdock was laying in the same position he’d been since two weeks ago, when she’d first walked in on him being bandaged by two other nuns.  He was a good boy, had been ever since she’d met him when he was still a young innocent and naive anymore. He came by often, mande donations when he could, and there were few Sundays where Father Lamton hadn’t seen him.

Yes he was still a good boy, but watching him, with the bodied scars aching and begging at themselves to close, the bruised skin that seemed to cover most of the body, his broken kids, his cracked knuckles, almost deformed due to skin tear after tear, resembling those of his fighting father….

He was still a good boy, but he wasn’t naive anymore, much less innocent. As she prayed for his well being sitting at the edge of the bed on day, with the golden sunshine flooding in an ethereal manner across the while lined room there was a grunt that opened her eyes.  A twitch of his hand, and a breath.

With that breath, he seemed to be coming back to life.

 

Matthew, the child she’d met almost two decades ago, had come here for a new start at his life, without his eyesight and without his father.  She could only begin to wonder what he’d lost now that he was back, but she knew one thing, as she looked at the cross above his head…

 

Matthew Murdock would be reborn within these walls he could be Born Again.

 

“Get Maggie”

* * *

 

**"The devil's going to make me a free man**

**The devil's going to set me free”**

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> A short chapter to get the ball rolling! Feedback is more than welcome.  
> Expect coming chapters to be much longer and be updated soon.


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